Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

W hy did it feel like Giovanni just invited a vampire into his house? Erin Montgomery was dangerous. She was a viper. Last night, he might have glimpsed her soft underbelly, but he had years of experience with the real her. And, only hours before, she gave everyone at O'Malley's a taste of her true vicious self.

The morning light had exposed what the shadows and darkness hid. Last night, he could overlook the fact that it was Erin he was helping.

She was just a stranded woman in a bad way. A source of heat with a set of sexy legs and a hot stomach he wanted to sleep against. But, in the light of day, there was no hiding who she was. And, there was no hiding the damage from the accident.

They were both stiff and frozen to the bone, but she'd been pretty roughed up from the crash. Half her face was marbled with purple and yellow blotches. But it was the eyes that did him in.

He didn't believe a woman like Erin could cry. Or, if she did, the tears would steam or hiss or some demonic shit like that. Yet, the tracks of makeup on her face showed signs of real tears— lots of tears—and he worried he might be responsible for a few.

When he spotted her outside of the motel, standing back in the snow with nowhere to go, guilt rode him hard. What if he'd been too rough on her at the bar? Erin never pulled her punches, and the last thing he needed was a situation with a heckler in his hometown. YouTube trolls would love that.

So, he let her have it. He heard one snotty sneer from the back, realized it was her, and gutted the bitch. He wasn't fifteen anymore. This was his livelihood—or at least he was trying to make it into some sort of a survivable career. He put a lot into his acts and while he might be on a stage telling jokes, this wasn't a joke to him.

"Towels are on the rack behind the door," he told her, pointing to the bathroom door where steam still billowed from his shower.

"There's hot water?"

He shrugged and dropped onto the bed, grabbing a book from the nightstand—anything to not look directly at her. "Gas heat, I guess."

He didn't let out a breath until he heard the bathroom door click shut and the water turn on. Exhaling, he lowered the book then frowned at what he was reading— The New Testament . He tossed the bible aside.

How long would she be here? No cell service, no television, no radio, no clue when the snow would stop. No food, aside from the plate of cookies his Aunt Rosemary gave him yesterday, which— fuck !

He'd left the damn cookies in the trunk of his car.

A nip of regret chewed at his insides for not staying at his parents' house. But he couldn't deal with them right now. Things were finally happening. He was booking gigs and getting paid on occasion. He didn't need their negativity. Not everyone in this family wanted to grow up and retire from the lumberyard.

The shower turned off and he tensed. Now what? He glanced at the bible. Nope.

There was nowhere to hide. Nothing to use as a distraction.

Grabbing his room key, he shoved his feet into his dry sneakers and bolted out the door.

Erin's body had been so cold, the heat of the shower hurt. She had finally regained feeling in her arms and legs, but her toes were still numb.

Not yet ready to leave the steamy sanctuary of the bathroom, she gathered her dripping hair over one shoulder and gave it a squeeze, wringing out the mass of thick blonde waves.

A small leather case sat beside the sink and she dipped a finger inside, pulling the narrow opening wider so she could review its contents. A thin-toothed comb. Perfect.

She worked the comb through the tangles of hair, but without conditioner, the strands formed one long mess of knots and snarls. Using a dry washcloth, she wiped away the steam on the mirror and winced at her reflection.

Angling her face to the side, she examined the bruise on her cheek. "Thanks, Dad. Another beauty."

Digging through her purse, she found lip gloss, lotion, liner, and a compact mirror, but no concealer to cover a bruise. The rattle of something caught her ear and she fished her hand deeper in the bag, pulling out her father's sleeping pills.

A full prescription. Enough to stop a human heart from beating. Enough to stop it from aching.

She threw the pills back into the abyss of her purse and glared at her reflection. She was stronger than that.

Her shoulders sagged and she stared at the drain of the sink. If she was so damn strong, how come she always felt so tired?

Helping herself to Giovanni's mouthwash and toothpaste, she brushed her teeth with her finger and braided her hair out of her face. The room on the other side of the door sounded quiet. Maybe he fell asleep.

Sleep was good. It gave them space from each other and room to think. Last night she'd drifted off on top of him, surprised she even managed to fall asleep. She was pretty sure she'd hit her head when her car went off the road and had a mild concussion. Maybe that was why she'd been able to sleep in someone else's presence. Usually, sleeping next to anyone made her painfully uncomfortable.

It had been an extreme circumstance. She'd just been in an accident. This was the part where a normal person would think, gosh , I'm lucky to be alive. But, was she?

Her dress sat in a damp heap on the floor, just beside her ruined shoes. Peeking into the motel room, she looked for Giovanni and found the room silent and empty.

Spotting a small suitcase on the only chair, she glanced at the door. Would he mind? She was in a towel, for God's sake. She needed clothes. She'd pay for the damn dry cleaning if he said something.

Crossing the room, she flipped open the luggage and paused at the sight of scribbled notes. Pages and pages of jotted down bits lay on top of his clothes. She read a few lines and rolled her eyes, supposing that could be funny if anyone with an actual sense of humor said it.

Sliding a plain white T-shirt out of the suitcase, she closed the lid and returned to the bathroom. The material covered her to the knee.

She hung her dress over the shower curtain rod with her towel, and rinsed her panties in the sink, leaving them discreetly draped over the faucet in the tub to dry.

The door to the motel opened and closed, a burst of cold air creeping past her ankles. She awkwardly moved to the bathroom door and stood there, watching him shake the flurries off his shoulders and hair as he tossed several candy bars and bags of chips onto the bed.

He met her stare and froze. The room shrank around them.

"There's an ice machine. Electrics still off, but it's colder than a witch's tit out there, so it's full."

She frowned, unsure why he thought she cared about ice.

"For your face," he said.

Her hand self-consciously rose to her cheek. It was too late for ice. Ice only helped right after the hit. The bruise had formed. She had no choice but to wait it out. "I'm okay."

He glanced at the bed where a potpourri of vending machine food lay. "This was the best I could find for breakfast."

When he looked back at her, it was as if he just then registered what she was wearing. The shirt hid more than her dress had, but for some reason, she felt more exposed. Did he know she wore nothing underneath?

His gaze lifted to her chest and she crossed her arms, hiding the way the soft cotton clung to the unbound tips of her nipples. The motion caused the fabric to rise at her thighs, and she fidgeted, pushing it back to her knees.

"That's my shirt."

"My dress was soaked from the snow."

"Now, it's gonna smell like you."

She drew back, offended. "Do I stink?"

Rather than answer, he kicked his sneakers off by the door and tore open a bag of corn chips. He shoved the food across the bed and climbed under the covers, sitting up against the dated headrest.

She glanced at the chair holding his suitcase, unsure if she was welcome to sit on the bed. "How long are you staying here?"

"Until Sunday."

She remembered his family had big Sunday dinners each week at Finn's parents' house on the mountain. She had attended a few. They were loud and crazy and she never felt comfortable around so many people.

She took a small step toward the bed. Her stomach grumbled quietly at the sight of food.

"Where do you go after that?"

He popped a chip into his mouth, not looking at her. "Wherever I find work."

She frowned. "Where do you live?" He hadn't been in Jasper Falls for years. She heard rumors that he was doing standup, some jokes that he left to attend clown college.

"I had a place in Jersey, just outside of the city."

Had? So he really was back. His living situation wasn't any of her business, so she didn't know why she cared.

Taking another step toward the bed, she eyed the bag of pretzels. "Can I have some?" She casually waved a hand at the pile.

He eyed her. "What do I get?"

Taking a step back, she scowled. "What do you get ?" What did he think this was?

He chuckled and kicked a foot under the blanket, sending a ripple of chips and candy in her direction. "I'm just messing with you."

She exhaled—relieved.

Then he mumbled, "I'd rather stick my dick in a bear trap." He popped a chip in his mouth and she glared at him.

They were stranded for God knew how long. She'd hoped they could at least be civil to each other, but Giovanni had never been the most mature guy.

Snatching the bag of pretzels off the bed, she went to the chair and shoved his suitcase onto the floor.

"Whoa! You mind?"

"Not at all." She dropped into the chair and ripped open the pretzels, holding his cold stare as she popped one into her mouth.

"Do you get some sort of satisfaction from being a bitch? I mean, does it renew your energy source or keep you young? Do you need the negativity to feed whatever demon spawn lives inside of you? Because I'm pretty sure the whole town would pitch in on a GoFundMe for an exorcism."

Chewed up pretzel dried to dust on her tongue. "Why should I be nice? No one's nice to me."

"I don't know, karma? Did you ever think no one is nice to you because of the way you act?"

"Did you ever think maybe I act this way for a reason?" she snapped.

"And what reason's that?"

His glare held such challenge she wanted to throw something. She could tell him stories that would make him cry. But she never burdened anyone with the painful truth because people only saw what they wanted to in this town. It was easier for everyone to villainize her and call her difficult or bitchy or any other name they could think of. They got pretty clever over the years, pushing her further and further away, but no one had ever been clever enough to see the truth right before their eyes. They were all blinded by Ward's bullshit act.

"Maybe I'm just a little more complicated than crumb cake." She folded the open bag of pretzels shut—no longer hungry.

Giovanni threw his head back and groaned. "I could go for some crumb cake. Does your dad still put some out every day at the store?"

The mention of her father sent a chill back into her bones. "Not anymore." Not unless he planned to make it himself from now on.

"Damn. Nothin' beats Ward's crumb cake."

"It's not Ward's," she snapped. "I make it."

"Really?"

Every goddamn day since her mother left.

"Maybe…you could make me some since I'm letting you stay here and all."

There it was. All of her life, whenever she shared any sort of closeness with a man, they always turned around and expected something in return.

She stood up and tossed the bag of pretzels on the table. "Guess a shitty slice of cake is better than a bear trap," she snapped and closed herself in the bathroom, away from him.